


Be Mine

by Fat_Bottomed_Flask



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dream Sex, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, I'm not sorry, Inspired by Somone Has a Dirty Mind animatic, Look I watched it too many times and couldn't cope with the ending, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Smut, the devil made me do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23149063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fat_Bottomed_Flask/pseuds/Fat_Bottomed_Flask
Summary: Aziraphale turned back to see Crowley pulling a book out from underneath the cushions. It wasn't the shop's usual sort of stock. This was a cream-coloured paperback, its glossy cover decorated with a tasteful illustration of a couple. It was upside down, from Aziraphale's point of view, but he knew what the title was. 'Sex Ed 101 ~ How to Please Your Partner'. He felt his face burn.I watched the"someone has a dirty mind / ineffable husbands"animatic by Mojo chojo and couldn't cope with the way it ends. (Fic makes sense if you haven't watched the animatic, but it will probably be funnier if you check it out first. Sound on.)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 72
Kudos: 474





	Be Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Someone Has a Dirty Mind / Ineffable Husbands](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/567238) by Mojo chojo. 



> Beta-ed by the amazing [MrsNoggin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsNoggin/pseuds/MrsNoggin). If you haven't read her stuff, where have you BEEN? Go and read it! Well, after you've read this, obviously. But then, go and read it.

Aziraphale was shelving some books deep in the stacks when he heard Crowley come into the shop. He knew it was him because, quite apart from the fact that he could sense his presence, the bell over the door sounded different when Crowley passed through it. Its chime was brighter and lighter and somehow happier, as though the shop was pleased to have the demon back. Perhaps it was.

"Hi, angel, how are you today?" Crowley leant against a bookshelf, his other hand resting on his hip.

Holding a book in each hand, Aziraphale turned towards him. He thought he heard a snatch of bass beat, and briefly wondered if Crowley had somehow left the radio playing in the Bentley. Although it didn't sound at all like Queen. 

"Hi, Crowley," he said, the sound of his own voice dislodging the rhythmic beat from his head. He waved a book-filled hand at his armchair. "I just need to sort out these new books. Feel free to sit there if you want—just a few more to put away."

Crowley sauntered into the room and headed for the chair. He normally slouched across the sofa, but right now that was covered in boxes. Aziraphale stole a glance at the demon's back as he walked. The way his hips moved, he thought, not for the first time, was utterly mesmerising.

"Okay." Crowley briefly leant against the side of the chair and smiled at Aziraphale before throwing both denim-clad legs over the arm, vaulting into the seat. Of course, the angel thought fondly, he couldn't just sit down like a normal human-shaped being.

"I won't be—" said Aziraphale, turning back to the shelves.

"Huh, what's this?" asked Crowley.

Aziraphale turned back to see Crowley pulling a book out from underneath the cushions. It wasn't the shop's usual sort of stock. This was a cream-coloured paperback, its glossy cover decorated with a tasteful illustration of a couple. It was upside down, from Aziraphale's point of view, but he knew what the title was. 'Sex Ed 101 ~ How to Please Your Partner'. He felt his face burn.

"My, my," laughed Crowley, flicking through the pages, turning the book around to look at the pictures from different angles.

Aziraphale had a sudden, strong memory of Gabriel's voice saying 'Pornography'. He winced and lunged for the book. "Good heavens! Give me that!" he said, snatching it out of Crowley's hands. "It— that— someone left it here! I think they'd been to, to— one of the other shops nearby. And— and— forgotten it. So I put it aside for them. In case they came back for it!" 

Crowley launched himself gracefully out of the chair and took a step closer, his eyebrows climbing over the rims of his sunglasses. "And, obviously, you left it in your favourite reading spot," he said meaningfully. He took in Aziraphale's flaming face. "Are you _embarrassed_ , angel?" 

"I— I— have no idea to what you're referring," stuttered Aziraphale, holding the book behind his back.

"Oh, really now?" Crowley’s lips quirked. He took another step forward, his snakeskin boot sliding nudging the side of Aziraphale's brown Oxford. The angel’s foot tingled through the leather. 

Aziraphale found he couldn't tear his eyes away from Crowley's lips. The bass beat was back, a distant, not unpleasant, sound with a curious sense of inevitability about it.

"Tell me..." One of Crowley’s arms slid past Aziraphale's shoulder to rest against the bookshelf behind him. "Find anything interesting in that book?"

Aziraphale stared, trying to see Crowley's eyes through his sunglasses. A heavy heat began to build in his groin. He felt fuzzy-headed, unable to think about anything but the warmth of the demon's skin and his musky scent—sandalwood and old leather and a trace of smoke. "I— ah—" he stuttered.

"Yessss?" 

"Er—"

Crowley leaned closer. He gently touched the side of Aziraphale's face with his other hand, his thumb lingering close to his mouth. Flashes of sensation danced across Aziraphale's skin. "Tell me," whispered Crowley.

Aziraphale bit his bottom lip. And then he turned his head slightly, caught Crowley's thumb softly between his teeth, and licked. 

The book fell out of his hands and hit the floor with a thud.

Even through the sunglasses he could see Crowley's eyes widen. He felt him shiver, ever so slightly, as he pulled his thumb back, a strand of saliva trailing from the skin. "Aziraphale," he said, sounding dazed. "Did you find anything you... wanted me to do?"

Aziraphale looked at the being in front of him, drinking in fiery hair and long, lean lines. Aziraphale's face was still flushed, but now it was something more than embarrassment. They were so close he could feel Crowley's breath ghosting patterns on his oversensitive skin. They had been moving towards this, he knew, ever since the Apocalypse-that-wasn't. Sitting closer, spending more and more time in each other's company, letting their hands come together over dinner tables. It had been obvious, almost obscenely obvious, just how Crowley's body reacted to his during the body swap, and Aziraphale could only imagine the demon had experienced a similar revelation—although they'd never discussed it. 

There was nothing to stop them, now. He knew it. He'd accepted it. Crowley, he suspected, had thought that really, there wasn't very much to stop them before. But six thousand years of carefully-controlled behaviour added up to a lot of patterns to break. The brakes were off—it was just taking a little time to build up momentum.

Now it was time to careen down the hill.

Aziraphale didn't speak, but he wrapped his arm around Crowley's waist, his fingers splaying across the small of his back, and pulled him closer. Their bodies pressed together, and Crowley let out a tiny hiss. Aziraphale’s pulse raced at the sound. He could feel the length of him against his hip, and his own cock twitched in sympathy. 

"Or," murmured Crowley, breathing raggedly, "you could show me what you learned from the book. If you prefer."

It occurred to Aziraphale that the shop door wasn't locked, and he pressed the palm of his hand over Crowley's mouth, suddenly worried that someone might hear them. "W-wait," he said, and then, in response to Crowley's flinch. "I mean, not here."

Crowley let go of the breath he'd been holding. "Ah. Right." He snapped his fingers. It seemed to coincide perfectly with the beat of the music which was still fading in and out of Aziraphale's head. What _was_ that?

Aziraphale found himself falling backwards onto his own soft bed in the room above the bookshop. He wondered, briefly, how Crowley had even known where to bring them. He'd never been upstairs, as far as Aziraphale knew. 

And then all rational thought left his mind as Crowley settled between his thighs, using his arms to hold himself up, keeping his hips just far enough away to tease. Aziraphale had time to notice that the demon's sunglasses had disappeared somewhere, before his own eyes fluttered shut and he groaned. 

Crowley kissed him. It was gentle at first, but quickly became hungry, tongues touching and teeth grazing lips. Aziraphale lost himself in the sensations—wet heat and gasping breaths, fabric moving over fabric, his cock aching, a delicious electricity zipping up his spine. Crowley moved one of his legs over Aziraphale's thigh, bringing his other knee up to gently press against Aziraphale's balls through his trousers. The sensation was unbelievably good, and he moaned again, rutting against him.

Crowley dropped kisses across the side of his mouth, along his jaw, murmuring unintelligibly into his ear, his breath tickling the sensitive skin there. 

"Crowley," said Aziraphale, hoarsely, "please." He opened his eyes. Crowley was staring at him, face flushed, eyes amber from edge to edge, pupils blown wide. "Please," repeated Aziraphale. "Fuck me."

Crowley caught his hand. His expression was serious yet vulnerable, all his usual cockiness drained away. He closed his eyes and reverently pressed his lips to the sensitive skin on the inside of Aziraphale's wrist, before opening them again and looking down. "Gladly."

###

Aziraphale felt suddenly fuzzy, overcome with a sense of unrealness. The music that had been nagging at his subconscious swelled, and then faded, cracked into static, and was replaced by birdsong. Crowley's weight was gone, as was his scent and the sound of his breathing and... 

Aziraphale blinked, wincing as a beam of bright sunshine fell into his eyes. He sat up. 

"Wh—" he mumbled. He was alone. In his bedroom. Fully dressed, on his bed. A book had fallen onto the covers beside him, but it wasn't Sex Ed 101. It was The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James. He groaned. He'd been reading in bed and he must've fallen asleep. 

He never slept. Crowley must be rubbing off on him.

Aziraphale almost laughed at himself. He knew Crowley thought he said things like that innocently, but the truth was it amused him enormously to make double entendres, just to watch Crowley say "for hell's sake!" and throw his head back with an exasperated expression, exposing his beautiful neck. 

Aziraphale sighed at the thought of that neck. His cock throbbed. 

He wasn't entirely sure he'd had one when he'd fallen asleep, but his subconscious must have made the decision at some point during the night. The dream came back to him in fragments. Up against the bookshelf, Crowley's thumb in his mouth, his knee pressed into his groin, his lips on his wrist.

" _What_ did I just dream?" he muttered.

He considered taking himself in hand. It was tempting. It would hardly be the first time. He'd always enjoyed human pleasures, after all. He let his eyelids close and shivered and his cock twitched. 

No.

He took a deep breath and pushed himself off the bed, willing his body to behave. For some reason, Gabriel saying 'thank you for my pornography!' popped into his head. Hah. Well. That cooled things down considerably.

Aziraphale headed downstairs.

###

"Wassup, angel?" said Crowley, on the other end of the phone. 

Aziraphale twisted the telephone cord. "I, ah, wondered if you might come over, dear boy."

"You mean now? We've got a table booked for dinner later."

"Ah, yes, now. If... if you're not busy." 

"No, not busy. Everything okay over there?" asked Crowley, a thread of worry in his voice.

"Yes, yes, nothing to worry about. I, um," Aziraphale looked up at the ceiling. "I just thought it might be nice to... to... share a mid-morning tea break, you know."

"Ah," Crowley sounded relieved. Aziraphale thinking about food and drink—that was normal. "You want me to pick up something from that French bakery?"

"Oh! Would you? Yes, that would be lovely!"

"Sure thing, angel. With you in half an hour," said Crowley, cheerfully, ending the call. 

The shop bell tinkled happily when, exactly thirty minutes later, Crowley pushed open the door, coffee cups balanced in one hand, a paper bag in the other. He blinked when he saw Aziraphale, who was dressed in only a pair of trousers and a pale blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, top collar button undone. No waistcoat. No bow-tie. 

Crowley swallowed. "S'it really a tea break," he said, nodding his head at the closed sign, "if you haven't actually opened the shop?"

Aziraphale clasped his hands. "I've been shelving stock," he protested unconvincingly. 

"No need to defend yourself to me, angel. Big fan of your chaotic opening hours, you know that. Causes all sorts of minor discontent on a daily basis." Crowley had, in fact, written the shop's confusing opening hours sign. He'd done it as a joke, many years ago, never actually expecting Aziraphale to save the piece of black-scrawled cardboard and display it in the shop window, carefully miracling it to never fall down or fade. 

"Yes, I know," said Aziraphale, lips twitching in a smile. He surreptitiously made a small gesture to ensure the shop door stayed locked. "What did you get?"

Crowley waved the bag at him and took a sip of his black coffee. "Pain au chocolat, croissants and beignets aux pommes. Help yourself."

"Oooh, apple doughnuts!" Aziraphale took the bag, and Crowley used his newly-freed hand to take his sunglasses off, fold them and put them in his jacket pocket. He rarely wore them when it was just the two of them, now. Not much point hiding your eyes from a being that had spent time actually looking through those eyes, Aziraphale supposed. He smiled at him. It was nice to be able to see the whole of Crowley's face. 

"Yup. I know you like those."

"I do." Aziraphale dipped his fingers into the bag and extracted one of the sugar-coated balls of fried dough. He took a bite and moaned happily as the puréed apple in the centre coated his tongue. Then he coughed as the significance of the flavour hit him. Apples.

Crowley watched him, looking concerned. "At risk of sounding like a stuck record," he said, "are you sure you're all right? You're... you're not wearing your usual..." he waved his hand up and down helplessly. "And, I realise breathing isn't completely essential, but still, s'not like you to choke on food."

"Honestly, darling—" Aziraphale started, and stopped.

They stared at each other. "That's... new," said Crowley. "Er. That's not to say I mind," he added, hastily.

Aziraphale put the half-eaten doughnut back in the bag and fiddled with the paper. "Shall we enjoy the rest of these properly, in the back?" he asked.

"Uh, sure," replied Crowley, the trace of anxiety back in his voice.

In the space at the back of the shop, Aziraphale put the paper bag on the table next to his chair. Then he glared at the chair, and sat on the sofa. 

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Chair done something to upset you?"

"Not exactly." Aziraphale patted the sofa cushion. "Sit with me?"

Crowley sat. He sipped his coffee. "C'mon, angel. What's going on?"

Aziraphale sighed. "I fell asleep."

"You... what? You don't sleep."

"Yes, well, I did. I was reading, last night, upstairs, on the bed and... next thing I knew, it was morning."

"Right. Well, sleeping's nothing to worry about. Sleeping's nice."

"Mmhm, yes."

Crowley frowned and looked at him. "Something more to this story?"

"I— uh— I had— a dream. About you. It was... quite vivid."

Crowley put his coffee down. "Other people's dreams are usually pretty boring," he said slowly, "but I have a feeling this isn't going to be. Go on."

"I'm not sure I should..."

"Oh come on, angel, you've started now."

"Hah, yes, well. I was shelving books and, and, you came into the shop—"

"Have to say, not especially exciting so far."

Aziraphale glared at him. "AND I told you to sit on my chair, because there were boxes all over the sofa. And you sat on a book. And it was— it was, well, it was a book about, ah, sex."

Crowley stared at him. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"It was a sex manual, in fact," said Aziraphale, talking quickly in an effort not to lose his nerve. "And you asked me if I was embarrassed. And then you, ah, pushed me against the bookshelf and, um, asked me if I'd found anything in the book that I wanted you to... do. And we went to the bedroom and. Well."

Crowley continued to stare with his mouth open for a few seconds, before making a series of faint vowel sounds. 

"That's... mostly it, really. Oh, and there was... music, I think. I didn't recognise it. Some sort of modern thing. Not Queen."

"Right. Yes. Well," said Crowley, grasping at the safer topic like a man who’d just spotted a half-solid piece of floating wood two hours after the boat had gone down. "There are other bands. I just can't get the Bentley to cooperate. It likes Queen. It's been like that since the late 1970s. Nothing I do—" 

Aziraphale sighed silently. He’d been keeping Crowley at a distance for, well, millennia probably. Decades certainly. He could hardly be surprised at his reaction. It was time to be… definite. 

He put his hand on Crowley's thigh. 

Crowley stared at it for a long moment, and then looked up. 

"You know," said Aziraphale, with a small smile, "I rather liked it when you shoved me into the wall that time. You know. In Tadfield."

"Uh. You did?"

"Mm. In fact, I think, if that former satanic nun hadn't come along when she did..."

"Oh?" whispered Crowley. Tentatively, he dropped his hand on top of Aziraphale's and began to trace patterns on the back of his hand with his fingertips.

Aziraphale leaned closer. He could smell Crowley's coffee and, yes, sandalwood and old leather and a trace of smoke. "The dream ended," he whispered, "at quite the most frustrating moment." 

"Did it now?" Crowley's voice was low, barely a rumble. Aziraphale stared at his throat, captivated by the long line of it, the curve of his Adam's apple. Apples again, he thought, suppressing a giggle. He let his gaze slide up, over Crowley's jaw, to his lips, and remembered being slammed roughly into the whitewashed wall at Tadfield Manor. Those long-fingered hands gripping his lapels. The wiry strength of him. Two strides bringing long legs so close to Aziraphale’s that he’d practically felt the heat of the demon’s thighs through the fabric of his own trousers.

"Have I got to tell you you're nice," murmured Aziraphale, "to get you do it again?" 

Crowley shivered. He took a breath. "You could try it."

"I've always said," said Aziraphale, not even trying to keep the mischievous tone out of his voice, "that you're really very nice—"

Crowley moved so fast that Aziraphale barely had time to register it before he'd been hauled up by his lapels, turned, and shoved against one of the bookshelves. Crowley looked at him, eyes burning, breathing hard. "Nicesss is a four-letter word, angel."

"I know some other four-letter words."

"I'm sure you do."

"Kiss is a four-letter word."

Crowley grinned. "I'll be honest, not the one I was thinking of, but not a bad place to sssstart," he said, and kissed him. 

Despite his words and the way he'd grabbed him, the kiss was a soft thing, barely a brush of lips and air, as though Crowley still wasn't quite sure of himself. He probably wasn't, Aziraphale mused, sliding his hand up Crowley's neck and pushing his fingers into the short hair there. It was softer than he'd expected, and he relished the way it tickled his palm for a moment, before gently pulling Crowley's head down so that their lips pressed more firmly.

Crowley made a soft sound and their tongues met, causing a shiver of heat to flood Aziraphale’s body. He was already hard, his body still wound up from the sensations in the dream, and he pressed even closer, chasing the delicious friction of denim taut over Crowley's lean thigh.

"Oh, fuck," mumbled Aziraphale.

Crowley groaned against his mouth. "Say that again."

"Fuck?"

"Yessss."

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fucking fucky fuck." 

Crowley pulled back a little, chuckling. "That's both ridiculous and," he paused to kiss his neck again, "really, stupidly hot."

"My vocabulary is extensive and varied. I read a lot, you know."

"Does fuckity fucking fucky fuck turn up in a lot of books?"

"Depends what you're reading."

Crowley drew a little closer, and Aziraphale could feel him, hard, pressing against his hip. "I had no idea you stocked that kind of literature."

"I don't _stock_ it. I might have," Aziraphale slid his over hand over Crowley's arse, "a private collection. For personal use."

"Uhhh. Do you have any idea how much I've wanted to do this?"

"Oh, I think I might have."

Crowley pulled back. "You absolutely sure about this, angel?"

Aziraphale huffed a laugh, although honestly, he wasn't surprised that Crowley was asking. He was a tempter, and the whole point of _that_ was that the person being tempted had to willingly make a choice. Otherwise, it wasn't temptation. It was something else. "Very."

"Thank... someone," said Crowley, dropping his lips back to Aziraphale's neck, working his way to the open collar. "Ugh, this isn't fair. You're practically _naked_." 

Aziraphale pushed Crowley's jacket off his shoulders. "I'm sure we can even things up." He started on the buttons of his waistcoat. 

Crowley pulled Aziraphale's shirt out of his trousers and slid one hand up his back, stopping at the spot between where his wings would be, when they were in this plane of existence. He rubbed gentle circles and Aziraphale moaned, leaning into the sensation for a moment before returning to his task. Finally done with the waistcoat, Aziraphale pulled at Crowley's thin t-shirt. The demon obediently raised his arms over his head and shrugged it off. They stood apart for a moment, Aziraphale raking his eyes over the bare chest, the dark nipples, the dust of reddish hair over his chest and trailing into his jeans. The sharp blades of his hips. 

"You're beautiful," said Aziraphale.

Crowley snorted. "I'm all points and edges." He reached out, running fingertips down Aziraphale's chest between the lines of his unbuttoned shirt. "You're the beautiful one. Inspired painters and sculptors for centuries, you have."

"I'm soft."

Crowley frowned. "You sound like you think that's a bad thing."

"I'm supposed to be a warrior. All... muscles."

"Oh come on, angel, as if you couldn't throw me across this bookshop with one hand behind your back."

"Well, yes. But it's all hidden under—" 

He stopped as Crowley lunged forward, kissing him hard. "Shut up," he muttered in between kisses and ran his hands over Aziraphale's skin, "I fucking love it. It's delicious. Softness and strength. Perfect." His fingers ghosted the waistband of Aziraphale's trousers, then dropped to cup the solid length of him.

"Fuck," mumbled Aziraphale, closing his eyes. "Please. Crowley."

Crowley dropped to his knees and pressed his lips against the fabric before undoing the fly and sliding the material over Aziraphale's arse. 

Aziraphale let him get so far, enjoying the sensation, and then snapped his fingers, lips quirking as Crowley looked up at him. "I _like_ those trousers. They'll crease terribly if they're bunched up on the floor." 

Crowley tilted his head. "Fussy angel," he whispered, before licking a long line up Aziraphale's newly bared cock. His flexible tongue stopped to flicker over the delicate skin under the head, before he took it in his mouth, wrapping his soft lips around the shaft and sliding slowly downwards.

Aziraphale moaned desperately, pushing his hands into Crowley's hair, scraping his nails over his scalp. Crowley hummed around him, bringing one of his own hands up over Aziraphale's, encouraging him to pull. He did, and felt Crowley groan around his cock.

Crowley hollowed his cheeks, sucking and licking. His tongue was incredible, hot and wet and so _strong_. He cupped Aziraphale's balls with his hand, pulling gently and pressing fingertips into the skin behind, sending sparks up his spine.

"Oh, I can't— Crowley, I'm—"

Crowley pulled back with an obscene popping sound, his hand replacing his mouth as he stroked up and down. "S'okay, angel. Do it. I've got you," he whispered, before sliding his mouth back down over Aziraphale's cock. 

Aziraphale lost himself in the sensation of being gripped in delicious, slippery heat. He pulled Crowley's hair and leaned back against the bookshelf. His thigh muscles twitched, hips stuttering. "Fuck. Ah!" 

He came in long, heavy pulses that seemed to spread though his whole body, leaving him boneless. Crowley sucked him through it, swallowing everything and supporting him with an arm around his arse. 

Aziraphale whined, over-sensitive, and Crowley let him go, lips lingering over his skin. Aziraphale let his knees give way, dropping drown so they were forehead to forehead, their breath mingling.

Crowley licked his lips. "Tastes like oysters," he said, grinning.

Aziraphale laughed weakly. "I think that's rather the point. Oh. That was incredible."

Crowley chuckled. "Seemed like you needed it."

"Fuck, yes."

Crowley bit the meaty skin where Aziraphale's neck met his shoulder. "It kills me when you swear," he muttered.

"You're still wearing your jeans," said Aziraphale. 

"Yeah. These aren't coming off without a miracle. I mean that absolutely literally."

Aziraphale made a gesture. Crowley hissed as the cool air hit his overheated skin, then groaned with relief as Aziraphale curled his hand around his cock. 

"Fuck, that feels good."

"Do you want me to—"

"Just keep doing that. Ngh. Your hands. I fucking love your hands. I _dream_ about your hands."

"Really?" asked Aziraphale, miracling some oil onto his palm and gripping a little tighter, twisting his wrist at the top of the stroke.

"Fuck fuck fuck, _yes_ . And your forearms. Ugnh. Do you have any idea what it _does_ to me when you roll your sleeves up?"

Aziraphale hummed, feeling Crowley shudder under his hands. "I do now."

Crowley gasped and came, thick white come shooting over his belly and dripping down his cock. Aziraphale stroked him until he felt the last of the pulses, and then brought his fingers up to his lips.

"It _does_ taste like oysters," he said, grinning.

"Told you," muttered Crowley. He looked around and laughed. "Did we really just do that up against a dusty bookshelf?"

"My bookshelves are not dusty!"

"Not the point," Crowley replied, kissing him. "I think, when you were telling me about that dream, you mentioned something about a bed."

"Oh, yes," said Aziraphale, snapping his fingers.

Crowley threw his head back against soft pillows. "Thass much better," he mumbled, his eyes sliding shut. "C'mere, angel."

Aziraphale turned on his side and scooted back so that his back was pressed against Crowley's chest. 

"Mm. S'nice." 

"Reminds me of that sculpture," said Aziraphale.

"Hm? What?"

"You know, in your flat."

"The wrestlers?"

Aziraphale snorted. "Wrestlers."

"Don't worry, angel, I'll triumph over you later."

"I'm looking forward to it," murmured Aziraphale, letting his own eyes close. Another little nap, he thought, might be quite pleasant.

###

Crowley was staring at his phone as they walked, answering Amazon reviewer questions with obnoxiously useless statements such as, " _Dont know the answer, was a gift,"_ when Aziraphale suddenly put out his hand, and Crowley walked straight into him.

"Huh?" He touched Aziraphale’s forearm, taking a second to appreciate the iron bar-like strength. "Wassup?"

"That music," said Aziraphale. "That's the song, Crowley!"

"What song?"

"The one, the one in my _dream_."

"Ohhhh." Crowley tapped the Shazam app on his phone. 

"It's coming from inside this shop, look!"

"Ah." Crowley looked at the window display. It had silvery-skinned, female mannequins dressed in stiletto heels and the sort of lingerie that no one ever expected to wear under actual clothes. The door was wedged wide open, so that potential customers could sidle casually in, perhaps pretending they'd actually been looking for Marks & Spencer and somehow got lost. But, you know, now I'm _here_ , actually I think I _will_ buy the stainless steel dildo and the remote-controlled vibrating butt plug and, er, yes, I probably will need another bottle of water-based lube. Thanks.

Crowley broadly approved of such establishments, although he couldn't help feeling that a bit more variety in the mannequin department wouldn't go amiss.

Aziraphale was peering through the window at something resting on a clear plastic stand. "It's the _book!_ "

Crowley looked. It was a cream-coloured glossy-looking paperback. The title read 'Sex Ed 101 ~ How to Please Your Partner'.

Aziraphale laughed. "Don’t you see? I must've walked past this shop and seen it out of the corner of my eye without really registering it, and it stuck in my mind. With the song. And then I dreamed about it!"

"Mmhm." Crowley decided now wasn’t the time to discuss the fact that Aziraphale's subconscious had apparently locked onto a sex manual with the ferocity of Dog latching onto Famine's leg. Later. He stared impatiently at his phone, waiting for the app to do its thing and produce the title of the song. The screen went pink, and white letters declared that it was called "Be Mine". He snorted, then covered up the noise with a cough. 

Aziraphale turned and began to walk up the street. "You know, it's rather comforting that there's a rational explanation." 

Crowley saved the song to a playlist. "There had to be, angel," he said, "when you think about it."

"Yes, darling, of course," replied Aziraphale cheerfully. "Still, it was niggling at me, you know. Dreaming about a book seems like the sort of thing I might do, but the music was most peculiar."

Crowley's eyebrows rose over his sunglasses. "You're describing it as a dream about a _book_?"

"Oh, well. It... sort of was, mostly. I'm sure I told you? I woke up, just before things got, well, interesting. It was most frustrating."

"Riiiight. And then you phoned me." Crowley snapped his fingers softly behind Aziraphale's back. The book disappeared from the display. (Money appeared in the shop's till, too. He was a demon, not a thief.)

"Quite so! It all worked out rather well, didn't it?"

Crowley shook his head fondly. The book found itself wedged behind the seat cushion of Aziraphale's favourite chair. He thought for a moment, trying to remember what Aziraphale had told him, and then snapped again. The bookshop sofa found itself covered in boxes.

"It did," said Crowley, sliding his arm around Aziraphale's waist. "Bakery's up ahead. Tempt you to an apple doughnut?"

"Temptation accomplished!" 


End file.
